


The Boy of Metropolis Who Stole My Heart

by sleeplesss



Series: zayn & harry [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slowburn Relationship, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplesss/pseuds/sleeplesss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he steps into that support group, Zayn curses himself. He knows he could have turned back and pretended like he wasn't there, but it was too late now. He was in the threshold, staring blankly at the room of teenagers staring right back at him.</p><p>"Wrong room," He claimed, turning around to walk back into the hall. Another voice called out after him. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Malik. Have a seat won't you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely fictional.
> 
> commas everywhere ehhh

 

 _Slippery_ , they had described him.  _He has an answer for everything._ Zayn narrowed his eyes, hoping maybe if he made direct eye contact with the therapist she would back down. Instead, Dr. Rae turned her attention to Zayn's mother. "I've been monitoring his behavior, and whilst being  _incredibly_ intelligent... he seems to be using that to trick you into thinking he's better." 

Zayn's mother was looking at him sternly, he could tell despite the fact he was facing away from her. 

"I suggest you enroll him in group therapy." Dr. Rae said, ripping a sheet of paper from a pad and scribbling something down on it. "Many of my clients come out of it and tell me it was beneficial in their..  _renewing_ process." She reached across her desk and handed Mrs. Malik the paper. 

"He hasn't been taking his medication." His mother adds, tucking the information into her purse. Zayn scoffed at her accusation, bringing his elbows up to lay on the arm rests of his chair. "I have! You're just never around when I do."

Mrs. Malik shoots him an unimpressed, motherly glare. "Even when I am, you refuse to take it infront of me." 

He opens his mouth and turns back to the therapist, but his reply is cut short as his mother thanks Dr. Rae for the session and excuses her and her son. 

 

-

 

The first time he steps into that support group, Zayn curses himself. He knows he could have turned back and pretended like he wasn't there, but it was too late now. He was in the threshold, staring blankly at the room of teenagers staring right back at him. "Wrong room," He claimed, turning around to walk back into the hall. Another voice called out after him. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Malik. Have a seat won't you."

He huffs out a sigh, pivoting on his heel and storming back into the room, closing the door behind him. The other kids hadn't yet stopped gawking at him, unfailing to make him feel weak at the knees as he weaved through the rows of chairs to find one of his own.

"Does anyone have any questions before we start?" The instructor asked, his soft voice surprisingly audible from the back of the room. A boy next to Zayn shot his hand up, his fingers wiggling back and forth which reminded Zayn of something he'd see in a kindergarden classroom.

The instructor nodded and leaned back in his chair - then the words started spilling out like rapidfire. "Why aren't the chairs in a circle?" The boy hadn't yet lowered his hand. "Good question, Luke. Our class is on the larger scale this month so we had to make some accommodations so everyone would be comfortable."

"Who is  _we_ , Dave?" The boy, Luke, asked loudly.

Zayn sat up a little straighter in his chair, despite the uncomfortable plastic that was digging into his back everytime he moved. He listened as the rest of the class began talking at once, drawing quite some attention to Luke. "The board, Luke." He sighed, clutching his clipboard tighter in his fingers. "Anyone else?" By the look on his face after, Zayn was guessing he regretted asking that - as the room yet again filled with noise. 

 

As the class ended and everyone filed out, he came to recognize that this was how he'd be spending his weekends from now on. He couldn't tag a certain feeling to this new arrangement, after all it was mildly entertaining. Zayn started down the near empty corridor, not stopping though he heard someone calling his lastname into the air. He could pass it off as his conscience, but what has he done now. He's in group therapy when he could be at the skatepark laughing when his friends fall off their bikes.

"Zayn Malik!" A hand grabbed his shoulder, tugging him backwards. "Where do you think you're going, young man?"

He whimpered, not quite sure why he was just letting this stranger drag him down the hall. "Home?"

The lady who was pulling him was dressed in nurse attire, as many of the  employees here were, and he was sure he remembered her from reception. She had directed him to the support group quarters and told him to just walk right in, " _No one will notice, I assure you._ "

Lies.

"You're not going home until the day is done. It's lunch time." And she released his hood, sending him stumbling into the cafeteria which was currently bustling with literally everyone in this hospital and their fucking grandma. 

He figured he might as well make the most of this - a free meal and all. So he got himself a tray and a nice salad type thing which was about 90% carrots and pulled out a chair at the table closest to the queue, ignoring whoever was around him and focusing on what he was here to do.

That, he still had to figure out.

"Would you like some salad to go with those carrots?" Someone chuckled, and from what Zayn could see (without looking up too much of course), this person was around his age or younger. Holding a plastic fork between their thumb and index finger as if it was a pencil. "Excuse me?" 

They sighed, seemingly offended that Zayn didn't find their joke amusing. "You have a lot of carrots in your salad, man." 

Zayn furrowed his brow, stabbing a vegetable with his fork, nearly snapping off one of the plastic teeth. "I like carrots." He mumbled. The boy laughed again and nodded. "So do I!" He drew his lower lip into his mouth, watching as Zayn pushed lettuce boredly around his plate. "I'm Liam."

"Cool," Was Zayn's reply, but it came out much more enthusiastic than he intended. "Zayn, I guess."

Liam tilted his head. "You guess?" He probably almost giggled for a second there, then held out his left hand. "Pleasure to meet you anyways," That was when Zayn saw the bandage wrapped around his wrist - and when he looked at the other he saw the same. 

He dropped the fork against the styrofoam plate and excused himself, though smiling as kindly as he could muster even as he sped away towards the washrooms.

 

-

 

The house was drenched in an uncomfortable silence, and it gave Zayn chills the second he walked through the door. "Mom?" He called out, leaving his keys on the table and kicking off his shoes, taking off up the stairs. He found his mother and younger sister, Safaa in his bedroom - sitting on the floor while they sifted through Zayn's clothing.

"What are you doing?" He asked, slightly out of breath.

His mother glanced up at him but didn't smile or anything, just stopped touching the clothing all together. "Your therapist called me earlier today. She said she's confident you'll only get better if you're forced to, at this point." She paused. "So we've booked you a room at the clinic,"

Zayn furrowed his brow, and he was sure his jaw was to become numb from how it went slack. "You're being picked up on Monday." His mother continued - but she didn't look as sad as one would expect when they were aware their son was going to be in a psych ward for the next month or so.

His eyes drifted down to the pile of clothes on the floor, then to the shirt his sister was holding. "Let me do the packing."

Mrs. Malik coughed out a laugh finally, flipping over the duffel bag and dumping it's contents onto the carpeted floor. Safaa huffed at that, sitting back on her haunches to observe the mess infront of her. "I folded everything nicely!"

"Maybe you could help Zayn, then. It'll give you something to do and plus, I'm not sure he even knows how to fold a shirt." She teased, touching her index finger to the tip of her daughter's nose before she stood up and exited the room. 

Zayn didn't understand. He didn't know why they were joking about this, about him  _leaving_. Like they'd known forever and just assumed he'd figure it out sooner or later. Maybe if he'd just taken his medication none of this would've happened and he wouldn't be standing in the doorway of his childhood bedroom having an epiphany like some maniac. "Are you going to help or what?" His sister said, a little on the unnecessary side of loud. Nevertheless tugging him out of the faze he was in.

 

-

 

Sunday afternoon he lay on the yellowed grass at the skatepark, squinting up at the sun as it blazed down on him. The brunet boy next to him was avidly applying sunscreen, rambling on about his second cousin and how when he was admitted to a mental hospital he came back a totally different person. To which Zayn cleared his throat and corrected him, "It's a clinic, just for group therapy and that. It's not like how it is in the movies, Louis."

His friend dropped the bottle of sunscreen on the grass, then began to rub what he'd applied into his skin. "Whatever, you're still not allowed shoe laces."

Zayn pushed himself up onto his elbows, narrowing his eyes at the pair of Toms his friend was sporting. "You don't even wear laces." And Louis laughed, reaching a hand out sideways to push Zayn down onto his back again. "I'm gonna miss you."

They sat in a silence for a while and watched as the other kids skated up and down the ramps, doing crazy tricks that typically landed them on the ground with their face pressed into the pavement. They  _did_ sit in silence, until Niall skated up right infront of where they were laying, kicking his skateboard into his hand. "Why are you letting this get to you, man? You don't have school for a fucking  _month_." He dropped himself onto his knees tossing his skateboard to the side.

"No," Zayn said, not quite disagreeing. Or agreeing for that matter. "But I have group therapy for a month. Which if you look at it, is twice as bad as school."

Niall and Louis exchanged glances like they thought Zayn couldn't see them. He may be temporarily blinded by the sun at the moment, but he could see an eyeroll anyday. "My second cousin said that sometimes people sneak things in and try to murder other people."

"That really only happens in the movies, Lou." Niall chides, shielding his eyes from the sun and laughing when Louis glares at him incredulously with wide unblinking eyes.

Zayn exhales and closes his eyes, listening absently to the bickering going on in the background between his two friends, his eyes fluttering open once a cloud passes infront of the sun. He turns his head to the side and attempts to ignore the incessant tickling feeling he gets in his cheek when it comes in contact with the grass. "Does no one want to hear my famous last words?"

Niall and Louis go silent mid-sentence, turning their full attention to Zayn. "Of course, Zaynie." Louis says.

He raises a hand - purposefully wracking his entire arm with fake tremors to make it look dramatic. "You're gonna fuckin miss me when I'm gone, lads."

Louis presses a hand to his chest and uses the other to fan himself. "How could I, a typical woodland fairy, get along without such a leader?" And Zayn gives up trying not to laugh, along with Niall and Louis. "You won't." He states, standing up and brushing the grass off his jeans. "I'll call you though, so guard your phones at all costs." 

He smiles at them crookedly, nodding once and quickly taking off in favour of ignoring their sappy 'see you later's, seeing as he was already regretting pretending like he wasn't bothered.


	2. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend to over-use certain words a lot so, I'm sorry about that

In precisely three minutes, Zayn will have been in this waiting room for exactly a half hour. Waiting as patiently as he could while his mother and father filled out paper work and collected his schedule and so on. When the office door opened and the three adults walked out again, Zayn shot out of his chair - clutching his duffel bag tightly in his arms.

 His mother lifted her hand to her mouth, eyes already beginning to brim with tears. She took a few steps closer to her son and enveloped him in a motherly hug - and Zayn thought if he closed his eyes tight enough he might be able to fool his brain into thinking she wasn't crying of sadness.

 Next, after his mother had told him she loved him and would see him in a month, his father wrapped his arms around him. Zayn smiled sadly at them and waved as they left, but if he was being honest there was nothing to be sad about. He basically lived in the next neighborhood, and if anything he was more nervous than upset.

 "Sir?" A nurse placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, catching his attention. "If you'll just follow me I'll show you to your room." She seemed nice, genuinely kind. Her eyes even crinkled up at the corners when she smiled at him, and he didn't hesitate much to follow her down the corridor.

 About halfway down the hall, she glanced back at him. "I've put you in room seventeen, just for future reference. I have a feeling you will like your room mate, quite the catch that one." She giggled lightly and turned back ahead, turning a sharp corner that more or less caught Zayn off guard. The nurse knocked three times for good measure before entering the room, huffing out a small "oh" at the realization that no one else was in there at the time. "Guess he'll introduce himself later on, dear." She hummed, stepping aside so Zayn could get a good look at the room.

 He walked in meekly, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised. It was a small room, two single beds a meter or so away from eachother - an air conditioning system to the far left - a bathroom and a bedside table that was situated between the beds. But it was nice.

 

When he turned around again to ask the nurse some questions that were nagging at his mind (like if he was actually going to be there for a month) she was gone, and he hadn't even heard her leave. What he did hear was someone outside knocking on doors and alerting the occupants that there was to be a therapy meeting in the den or something in five minutes.

 Not soon after, a young man stopped at his room and made an amused sound that startled Zayn into dropping his schedule on the floor. "There's the new kid." He sauntered past Zayn, hands in his pockets. "Been looking all over for you, man. But then again I wasn't quite sure what I would be looking for."

 He was dressed in what looked to be nurse attire, plus a cardigan with sleeves cuffed neatly to his elbows. Zayn looked him over, his brow furrowed. "Why were you looking for me?"

 "Wanted to see what kind of crazy I'd be dealing with." The guy grinned cat-like, eyes bright and slightly glassy looking. "You don't seem crazy at all. But who am I to judge, right." Zayn nodded quickly, then shrugged immediately after, still wildly confused. "Do all nurses sleep in the same room as patients?"

 

The man erupts in sudden laughter. "You think I'm a nurse?"

 Zayn stutters out a nervous reply. "Oh.. uh, sorry? Doctor?"

 The laughter doesn't even slightly subside, if anything it gets louder. Then it stops altogether. "Why are you dressed like a nurse, then?"

 "I'm surprised it's not a life hack by now, son. You can get away with a ton of shit if you own a set of these." With that he wanders back out into the hall, pulling Zayn with him by his elbow. "Group session starts soon, and you'll lose credits if you don't show up."

 "Credits?" Zayn asks, managing to wriggle his arm free of it's constraints.

 

"You won't understand no matter how I tell you." The man says, opening a door that leads into a lounge-like area. "How old are you?"

 

Zayn bites down on his lip, releasing it when it starts to hurt. "Seventeen.." The man gasps, grinning brightly. "No way! Me too." And Zayn smiles a little aswell, but it's more crooked than anything. "Really?" Then the other boy shakes his head. "I lied, I'm sixteen."

"Harry!" Calls out a boy who looks all too familiar to Zayn. He doesn't seem to notice Zayn's presence at all really. "Hey, Liam. Have you met, um..-"

"It's Zayn, and yeah. We met at group last week," 

Liam smiles weakly, and Zayn doesn't understand why he's acting so different compared to how he was that day at lunch. It could have had something to do with the way Zayn reacted to his wrists and then ran out, but there's no way of knowing for sure. All he knows is that Liam seems to be feigning interest in just being around Zayn.

"Alright." Harry says, grabbing Zayn's elbow and guiding him away. "What was that about then?" But all he can really do right now is shrug. Harry whistles, checking over his shoulder once more. 

 

-

 

Harry's portion of the room was to the point of cleanliness that it looked like no one had set a finger on it in years. The wall adjacent from his bed was plastered with neatly hung posters (each exactly an inch apart or so Harry claims). It's evenly split down the center, and when asked why Harry nibbles at his thumbnail and lowly explains that it's rude to invade someone else's living space.

"What are you in for?" Said Zayn as he climbed onto his bed, pulling his legs up real close to his body. Harry lets his eyes flicker over Zayn's face. "You say it like it's jail we're talking about," And he laughs for a split second only, passed off like a common hiccup.

Out in the hallway there's announcements sounded by the PA system, one after the other just as inaudible as the last. "I mean," He can tell this is going in a rotten direction, especially since now he's gesturing wildly with his hands and Harry looks somewhat concerned. "Why was I admitted?" He finishes, his lips quirking up into a smile.

Zayn nods.

" _Well_ , I don't usually tell people this. Y'know, it gets gruesome." He winces falsely.  "I'm kidding. Compulsive lying may have played a part in my being here, but I don't even know."

"Who brought you here?"

Harry shrugs, pursing his lips. "My mom, she really wants me to get better and I care about her so I'm here.. doing that."

That alone reminds Zayn of his own reason for being here, it almost makes him sad infact. Thinking about him being here for an entire thirty days with limited interaction with his family. It's like twisted summer camp of sorts. Minus the macaroni art.

 

Sometime late in the night Zayn wakes up, having to unravel himself from the various knitted blankets Harry had supplied him (from his personal stash he kept under his bed, of course) without much of his consent. He blinks a few times fast, only seeing Harry sitting on his made bed when his vision clears up.

He's knitting.

In the complete dark.

"Harry?" His scratchy attempt at keeping his tone leveled offends him somehow. It sounds loud to him but obviously isn't loud enough considering it barely reaches his room mate's ears. The boy continues to knit, his shoulders slumped forward. When he realizes Zayn is awake, he lowers his hands to his lap. "Sorry." He smiles sheepishly, even though there's a slim chance Zayn can see. "Not used to sharing a room. You're just so damn quiet I keep forgetting." He chuckles, reaching across and opening the top drawer of the bedside table, putting away his project.

"What - oh." 

Harry exhaled deeply, but was silent for a long while after that. The air in the room was thin, and it was almost as if Harry had disappeared or something. Leaving no trace he'd been there not thirty seconds ago.. knitting. 

So Zayn tried to roll onto his back and barracade himself in the mound of quilts, listening to the gentle whirring of the air conditioner and relying on it to help him fall asleep again.

 

 

For the next few days he slowly adapted to being woken up at all hours of the night, either by a racket outside the door or the sleepless boy he was sharing a room with. By the time the first week passed, he was convinced he had fallen into the cycle. 

Zayn felt more comfortable to walk outside on his own, and to sit in the den with a pen and paper - just sketching pictures of what the world inside his mind looked like.

Somedays, Liam would join him. He wouldn't speak, but he would watch over Zayn's shoulder curiously and let his eyes trace the picture infront of him. 

He felt like he was beginning to appreciate things more, which sounded totally cliche and like something his ancestor would say, but it was true. He missed his cellphone, and his friends.. and edible food. Being scared into eating everyday by a spindly sixteen year old staring you down does nothing helpful for your tastebuds.

"Are you going to drink your juice box, Zayn?" Liam asked one day, sitting directly beside the latter and directly across from Harry - who was now watching him carefully, his fork frozen in between his fingers. Zayn tilted his head up and looked at the unopened box of apple juice on the table infront of him, he smiled crookedly and shook his head, then went back to drawing.

Harry watched with narrow eyes. He watched as Liam's bandaged wrist reached out for the juicebox. 

"Put it back, Liam." He said, dropping his sight down to his plate of fruit and saltines.

Liam whined in the back of his throat, which drew Zayn's attention. "He said I could have it, Harry!"

The boy, who was still unbelievably the baby of all of them, sighed and held out his own juicebox that he hadn't yet opened. "He has to stay hydrated aswell, darling. Here," He placed the carton in Liam's hands. "You can have mine. I'm not thirsty." And Zayn watched as one contently began to drink and the other pushed his chair back, propping his legs up on the table to be crossed at the ankles.

"So, Zayn." He started, once again directing the older boy's attention away from his sketch. "Got a girlfriend?"

The boy in question shook his head, shrugging. "I mean, never really been that interested in having one."

"Boyfriend, then?"

"Wha- what?" His lips parted slightly, unsure of the direction this conversation was going in. "Do you have a boyfriend?" Harry tilted his head, eyes staring dead into Zayn's. 

Zayn shook his head again and pulled at the material collar of his shirt, hoping maybe doing that would relieve the constricting feeling he felt in his throat just now. Harry just nodded, pursing his lips into an irritatingly cute pout. 

"I'll help you find a girlfriend.. Or a boyfriend, if that's what you're into." He chuckles, standing up and pushing his chair in again. "Everyone across the land will be running to 3 North  _just_ to get themselves a piece of you." Zayn laughed a little bit at that, it fading gradually as his eyes followed Harry's exit into the hall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also need lessons on how to properly end chapters um


	3. Chapter three

Zayn really has no room to complain about his childhood. It was great.

He remembers having a moderately tough time making friends, but becoming best friends with the ones who decided to stick around. His mother would pack him a lunch each day and write a note that Zayn wasn't too proud to read infront of his buddies, they would even complain that they wish they got notes in their lunchbags. It made Zayn feel good, like he was on cloud 9 all the time.

Once elementary school was done with and middle school rolled around, things were different. He'd just gotten over the stress of being slyly made fun of from the older kids for taking the mini-bus home each day. Now he'd found out they had placed him in a special ed class, claiming it only had to be for the one year.

A lot can happen in one year, he knows that for certain. 

This year, for example. Zayn had gone to school five or so months ago and now he was sat in 3 North, fidgeting nervously as Harry measured a string around his neck. "Hey, Li?" He asked, eyes focused on his progress. Zayn glanced behind him - Liam looked up from where he was playing chess with himself at a table, his eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

"What kind of pasta do you think I should use for this necklace? I want to make it look nice and professional, and I'm not sure elbow noodles really fit that description." His tongue poked out to wet his lower lip, continuing to pull at the string until it was at the desired length.

Liam made a noise of thought, tapping his index finger against his jawbone. "What about bow tie?"

Harry paused, looking into space for a moment whilst he thought. Not thirty seconds later he turned around with a confused look on his face. "Bow tie pasta don't have holes, Liam. How will I put the string through?" Liam shrugged, picking up another chess piece and moving it across the board. Harry cleared his throat and held the string back up so it draped around Zayn's neck.

"Any preference?" He pondered aloud, staring at Zayn's nose like he usually did when they spoke. Zayn blinked and shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching up. Harry lets his head fall forward at the slightest, observing the pile of different uncooked pasta in his lap. He moved his hands down to smooth out the paper towel they were sitting on, making sure all the pasta shells were facing upwards. "C'mon, pretty boy. This is your relationship status we're talking about. Not a lot of people own pasta jewelry and I'm sure no one can resist a trend setter." 

Zayn furrows his brow. "Pretty boy?"

Harry ignores him and starts threading the lanyard through the pasta. 

"Why would you go to all the trouble to find him a lover when you could just date eachother?" A girl says, and apparently she's been sitting next to the boys the entire time, painting her nails a lilac colour. She has dark brown hair, falling just above her shoulder. Her skin positively glows, and Zayn wonders how that's possible - he'd think being in a hospital for a month would drown you out.

Harry gives her a teachery look, very stern and very condescending. "Valid suggestion, Nadira - but I'm not his type. It would never work out." He sighs melodramatically, slapping the side of Zayn's face to get him to pay attention to him again. Nadira scoffs and rolls her eyes, dipping the brush back into the polish bottle. "How do you know you aren't his type?"

It's weird hearing them speak about him like he isn't sitting right there. When he opens his mouth to speak they cut him off, but he learns to pipe down and just listen. "I'm trying to find him a girlfriend,  _or boyfriend_. If I was going to offer myself up for a long term relationship I don't see the point in coming this far."

He takes a second to finish dropping pasta shells in a row, attaching the clasp to the end and reaching across to fasten it around Zayn's neck. His eyes stay focused on the tip of his noise the entire time. "You're making him a macaroni necklace for fucks sake, Harold!" Nadira retorts, twisting the cap on her nail polish and standing up. She storms over to where Liam is sitting and claims the seat across from him, and her mouth starts moving again the second she does. Liam watches her with endearment, laughing shyly at every insult and possibly made-up word she says.

"Only an amateur would use macaroni to make a necklace!" Harry calls after her, his cheeks flushed red.

Zayn chuckles, running his fingertips along the new piece of jewelry he's acquired. "You seem pretty passionate about this."

"What makes you think that?" 

"Just.. that you're putting an awful lot of effort to make sure I'm like.. engaged before I get out of here." Zayn blinks. Harry blinks too, but he's starting to look angry. "Do you not want my help?" He snaps, catching Zayn off guard. 

Zayn holds his hands up in defense. "I didn't say that, but I could really just wait until I'm back home to look around. There's lots of people at my school and I barely know the lot of them.. I-"

"So you don't want my help anymore?"

Harry makes a sudden disgruntled noise, looking around the room with pouty lips and a knit brow. He sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his abdomen. Zayn just sits there in silence, wide unblinking eyes and the rapidly approaching inability to well.. do anything. He jolts out of his chair without hesitation, gesturing over to the door. "I need to go make a phone call.. thanks for the necklace."

 

-

 

"Niall?" Zayn says into the phone, clutching it tightly in both his hands. He's leaning so far into the box the phone is attached to he's sure if he applies anymore pressure he'll snap something off the wall. Soon enough he hears a familiar Irish lilt float through the receiver. "Hey man!"

He scratches at his eyebrow, unable to focus on what he was going to say with the amount of background noise in the phone call. "Where are you?" It suddenly goes quiet, and Zayn assumes he either stepped outside or he hung up on him. "Sorry what?"

"Um, where are you?" Zayn repeats.

"That new kid Louis is arse-over-tits for is having a party. I'm not even sure why he was invited, to be honest. All he talks about is trains and -" Niall cuts himself off, he's laughing too hard - yelling something to someone in the distance. Zayn steps back a bit, pulling the cord with him. "Anyways, what's it like in the loony bin?"

Zayn sighs and hopes Niall can't hear. "It's.. different."

"Oh great. Listen, I have to go, someone brought a keg and I want to see if Louis can do it without falling over." He laughs right into the receiver again. "Just so you know, there's nothing wrong with you, alright? You're totally normal, totally cool. You don't need any of this therapy shit." He mutters a quick goodbye before hanging up and leaving Zayn on a static-y phone line, listening to his own unsteady breathing.

 

-

 

"I'm just saying, you can't play _magic the gathering_ without the proper cosplay." Luke explains to the tablegroup, his eyes wide and completely serious. Nadira laughs directly at him, and his right eye twitches consistently. "I will play  _magic the gathering_ without cosplay and still beat you, Lucas."

Liam grins to himself, leafing through his deck of cards.

"In fact," Nadira continues, smacking her handful of cards on the table, drawing an impressed 'ooh' from the group. "I could play go fish with you,  _wearing a fish costume.. and a blindfold_ and I'd still beat you."

Harry exhales and excuses himself from the game, sauntering aimlessly towards the double doors, pushing them open to reveal a sight he hadn't expected. Zayn is sitting on one of the chairs across from the phone, one hand covering his eyes. This confused Harry, and he couldn't think of anything useful to do considering he was never the best at consoling someone.

"Um." He clears his throat, holding a closed fist to his mouth. Zayn removed his hand from his face, fixing his posture and smiling weakly. "Hey, Harry."

The latter smiles sheepishly back at him and steps closer. "Can I sit?" And he does, waiting until he's given the 'okay' of course. The two of them sit there for a good while and just listen to the generic noises of the hospital, but it might just be that one or both of them are too shy to say anything. 

Harry bites his lip until it hurts, opening his mouth to speak but then closing it. "Wanna talk about it?"

"About what?" Zayn replies softly, and his tone is saturated in uncertainty. 

The younger shrugs his shoulders and slumps in his seat, stretching his long legs out infront of him, tapping the toe of his shoes together. "Or I could talk if you want, then you could chip in when you felt like it.?" He accepted the immediate silence as a 'yes please' so he racked his brain for something interesting to talk about.

"I'm not usually one to intervene in someone's personal life," He chuckles, obviously joking. Zayn smiles. "But either you're upset about what the person on the other end of that phone said, or you're homesick or-"

"I have shitty friends." _  
_

Harry makes a 'tsk' sort of noise, cocking his head to the side. "It's your fault for letting them hang around you. They're feeding off your confidence."

Zayn shakes his head. "No, they just.. it doesn't seem like they're trying to understand what's going on with me." He bites his lip. "Just like my dad, they are trying to avoid it."

"That's no good."

"No, it's not. I mean I love them but sometimes I wish I could start over. Find people who can relate to what I'm saying." Zayn's body closes in on itself again, and he pulls his legs up onto the chair with him. Harry can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of empathy for this kid, wishing he'd known him for years so he could tell him 'you've got me' and stuff like that. "All you need sometimes is a hella good book and some so-hipster-its-mainstream music. Y'know."

That's really all it takes for Zayn to laugh again, throwing an arm over his eyes to properly cover them. Harry finds his happiness contagious - thinks it's like a million fireworks going off at once and illuminating the air. Without much thought he reaches out and carefully removes Zayn's arm from his face, placing it back in his lap with unintentionally lingering fingers.

Zayn's laughter fades gradually until he's left cautiously chuckling at nothing - unable to keep his eyes focused on one aspect of the younger boy's face. It appears Harry feels the same, but he's looking down at his shoes instead. 

"Can I show you something?"


End file.
